I can’t quite believe I’m writing this… but Theo is starting at Birtenshaw School in Bolton this September.
The school we wanted. The school we’ve been fighting so hard for.
It’s been 12 long months of emails, phone calls, chasing, questioning, challenging, and second-guessing ourselves.
I came so close to giving up and just waiting for the tribunal in January 2026. When you’re told “no” over and over by the so-called “experts,” it chips away at your confidence. You start to wonder if you’re wrong.
And when I say we won, I mean I won.
No shade to my husband — he’s been my rock through all of this — but I’ve been the one sending the emails, making the calls, doing the fighting. He’s been there quietly holding it all together in the background, keeping the bills paid while my work took a back seat.
Despite everything going on, life hasn’t stopped. He’s been my constant — reminding me I am doing the right thing, lifting me up when I felt like I was drowning.
Truthfully?
My mental health has been in the gutter.
I’ve cried more times than I can count.
Mostly from frustration because nobody seemed to be listening.
But here we are.
It’s finally happening.
We’ve known for a few weeks but kept it quiet, half-expecting Lancashire County Council to change their minds (once bitten…). But after a recent transition afternoon at Birtenshaw, we were told all the paperwork is signed and sealed.
It’s official.
Theo met his new teacher, explored the school, used the sensory room, played on the swings, and even got a look at the swimming pool — they swim twice a week, which he’ll love. The staff spoke to him in exactly the right way, gently, giving choices — they understood his PDA traits without needing an explanation. It just felt… right. He felt at ease. I felt at ease.
I know he’s going to thrive there.
I’m sharing all this for the parents who are still fighting. Still exhausted. Still feeling like it will never end.
It will.
You will get there. And when you do, it’ll feel like standing at the top of a mountain after a hell of a climb.
Here are a few things that helped me along the way:
1. Freedom of Information request (FOI)
I was told that every school LCC places children in is quality-checked. I requested this report and found out they’d never quality-checked the school they originally wanted Theo to attend. FOIs are a powerful tool.
2. Subject Access Request (SAR)
I requested Theo’s full case records. This showed every school that had been consulted, along with email trails, notes from calls, everything. Eye-opening and essential.
3. Voice of the Child
Under the Children and Families Act 2014, children have the right to be heard. Theo didn’t feel safe or happy about the school they’d chosen. He wrote a statement for the tribunal — his voice mattered.
I’m not a legal expert, but I’ve learned so much from this process. If you’re in a similar boat, I’d be happy to share anything I can. Sometimes it’s like playing poker — knowing when to hold your nerve, when to speak up, when to wait.
But while this post is mostly about the battle, I can’t forget the real hero of this story: Theo.
He’s coped with no routine, fitting activities around meetings, and missing out on time with other kids. (Although I must say, Fortnite has saved us — it's given him a social lifeline.)
He’s gained so much independence.
He now makes us toasties at lunch when I’m on calls.
He walks to the pet shop by himself, pops to the sandwich shop for lunch.
He’s calmer. He’s brighter. He’s healing.
The demands of mainstream school burned him out. Autistic burnout is real, and this time at home has let him reset. He knows this isn’t forever — school is coming — but now, it’s a school that fits him, not one he’s being forced into.
A fresh start in September.
And honestly? I couldn’t be happier.
Kristina x
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